


Bubbling up

by Niitza



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Champagne, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niitza/pseuds/Niitza
Summary: "And that's the story of how Captain America drove safely to the Frenchzone libre, with the rest of his team three sheets to the wind, while being fearfully saluted by Nazis."





	

**Author's Note:**

> So 2016 has been pretty much a crap year on the world scale. This is my contribution to try and make it end on a slightly better note. Actually based on a true story, as told by my late great-uncle. Set in an improbable post-Civil-War future where the Avengers were all pardoned & made up over kicking Evil People's asses & now live in the Tower. I hope you enjoy!

When Tony came up to Steve and asked him what he could give Bucky to try and make amends, Steve was understandably surprised.

"Make amends?"

"Yes. That's a thing people do, these days, to… apologize, because I don't know if you've noticed but the in-thing for us modern day men isn't turning into repressed sad sacks or stony drunks anymore, it's all about _sharing_ and _talking about our feelings_ and—I'm very good at it, of course, as you might've noticed."

"But—" Steve floundered for a bit. "I mean, you already— You helped lift the charges against him and made it possible for him to come home."

"Eh. That was mostly him helping with the giant mutant locusts invasion."

"You welcomed him into the tower and gave him a whole floor."

"Which he doesn't _use_."

He sounded particularly grumpy about that but, well. It wasn't Bucky's fault that Stark hadn't foreseen that he'd be sharing with Steve.

(Steve privately found Tony's astonishment over the whole thing almost insulting: it wasn't like they'd been _discreet_. After all, decades of being frozen and brainwashed and tortured were a pretty efficient way to stop giving a fuck about what people thought of what—or who—you did behind closed doors.)

"Look, it's been brought to my attention—by Pepper, then Bruce, then Sam, then even _Rhodey_ —that blasting the guy's arm right off might've been sort of an asshole move. Repeating trauma and all that."

"You were defending yourself."

"No, _he_ was defending _himself_. I was just… mad."

"You were bereaved."

"Yeah, well." Tony shuffled. "Turns out, not everyone turns into a homicidal maniac in that kind of situation. Who knew? Well, you knew. 'Cause you, _you_ wouldn't."

Steve pursed his lips, not sure he agreed. He had gone on quite the rampage after Bucky's fall. Not that Hydra hadn't deserved it, or that he wouldn't have gone after them anyways had Bucky still been at his side.

So yeah, maybe Tony was right. Maybe his move _was_ strictly of the self-destructive, crash-a-plane-into-the-Arctic-hoping-for-the-end-to-come-quickly variety.

"I didn't pull my punches against you, though," he pointed out.

"Yeah. I have to admit, you kinda scared me, for a second. A very short one. Half of. A milli— a _pico_ second."

Steve vividly remembered it: the look on Stark's face, his wide and terrified eyes, right before he'd brought the shield down. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how else to stop you."

"Yeah, well. I didn't give you a choice, and I'm sorry for that." After a beat he blinked and batted his hand. "Look at us, being mature and expressing feelings all over the place, Pepper will be so proud. Anyway, you would think, I blew up his arm, I could give him a new one, right? Right. And I could _totally_ do that, easy peasy. Only The Lion King's already been there and done that and—" He stopped.

"And?" Steve prompted.

"And… it does seem like I… actually… _can't_ … offer better… than Wakandan vibranium technology."

That had obviously been painful for him to say. Steve bit back a grin and refrained from saying that Tony admitting that he'd been bested to Bucky's face would probably be more than enough. He wasn't that cruel.

"So tell me: what can I do for your main freeze'n squeeze?"

Steve took a minute to think about it. What could Bucky wish for that he didn't already have easy access to?

There was no obvious answer. Bucky's needs were pretty modest these days. All he wanted were full nights of sleep, all the food he could digest, books, and lots of quiet. He'd started requesting more and more of Steve's hugs—not that Tony could help with that.

Maybe some good, fresh Romanian pastries, Steve thought. Bucky had developed a taste for them in Bucharest, courtesy of the little old lady who insisted on bringing him some at least once a week, and he'd been complaining about being unable to find a place in New York that offered anything close to it for weeks now. Or—

Steve almost snapped his fingers as an idea he'd been toying with resurfaced.

"A bottle of champagne."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing special, just…" Steve shrugged. "I want to try something. It doesn't need to be high quality or expensive, but it has to be real champagne—I mean, made in France and everything."

"Okay," Tony said slowly, staring like he wanted to make sure Steve knew he thought Steve was being weird, with his weird specifics. "Fine."

 

*

 

Bucky's memories were still a bit patchy. However, they had noticed that sensory stimulation was a great way to gently prompt it. Sights, smells and sounds brought back a whole plethora of pictures and moments, little dots shining bright through Bucky's mind even on the darkest of days.

Knowing that, Steve had led Bucky all over the parts of Brooklyn that still looked somewhat the same, to the bridge, to the docks were the stink hadn't changed a bit in seventy years. On good days he made him listen to the music he used to love. Lately, they'd started experimenting with tastes, trying to bring back more from their childhood—a part of the past in which Bucky was very interested, but which still eluded him, for some reason. In that regard, a good egg cream, a candy apple, or even a bowl of cabbage and potato stew that had been left to boil for too long could do in a second what a whole bunch of therapy sessions would never have achieved.

Unfortunately, they'd recently had to press pause on their attempts. There had been several bad days, followed by a mission on which they'd found out about yet another series of trigger words whose subsequent deactivation had left Bucky exhausted, crushed under the impression that he would never be rid of them all.

But he'd gotten to rest since then, and slowly but surely things were looking up. Steve just wanted to see if he could give them another small nudge in the right direction.

 

*

 

The thing with Tony Stark was that as soon as he put his mind to something, you could be sure that he would have it done in next to no time—no matter if it involved creating a new element or making Poland and Russia agree on something, like dropping their respective demands for the Winter Soldier's extradition. Compared to that, delivering one measly bottle of sparkling wine was no challenge at all. Which is why Steve wasn't surprised when, less than two days later, Tony presented him with one.

"Here, like you wanted," he said. "Directly imported, blanc de blanc, whatever _that_ means—but more importantly, did you know that the name 'champagne' is actually, like, copyrighted over there, and that if you dare make wine with grapes grown like two miles outside the designated production area and call it champagne anyways, they will _sue your ass_? Hell, they've been trying to sue _us_ for using the name on our bottles, isn't that crazy? I find it crazy. But well, French people—what did I expect? Oh, and the journey was a bit bumpy I hear, so you might want to let that one rest in the fridge for a bit so it doesn't, you know, _explode_ when you open it."

"This is great, thank you," Steve said, looking at the label. "I hope it wasn't too expensive."

"It wasn't, actually—and it's not even the billionaire talking. It comes from a small property, the guy doesn't even have a website, can you imagine that? You have to actually go there to buy a bottle—once again: French people. Ugh."

Steve gave him a look. "You're telling me you actually _went there_?"

"With the suit, it would've been easy," Tony snorted. "But no. I'm trying to respect that clause thing about not infringing on national airspace without proper authorization—I know, I'm being so good, it's like I've had a personality transplant. I just have my ways, Cap."

"And how much did 'your ways' cost?"

"Oh, nothing," Tony dismissed. "I told you, this isn't an expensive bottle. It comes, however, from a very small vineyard. Starks value quality and rarity over price, you know."

"Uh uh."

"Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I had you drink from that 275.000$ bottle I have lying around somewhere, you'd actually die.

Steve choked.

"Might be fun to see, though."

 

*

 

"What's the occasion?" Bucky said with a whistle when Steve showed him the bottle three days later—because even though he would deny it, he and Tony had more in common than they were both comfortable with.

"Nothing. I just want to try something."

"Oh." By now Bucky knew that 'I want to try something' was code for their sensory memory game.

"I mean, if you're up for it," Steve amended, not wanting to pressure him.

"It involves booze, of course I'm up for it," Bucky retorted as he hoisted himself up from the floor, scooting until he was leaning with his back against the bottom of the couch. He never really sat anymore, on chairs or on anything else; on the other hand, any and all surfaces had been declared prime lounging real estate—the floor included. Good thing that Stark's robots regularly cleaned it.

Steve settled on the couch beside him and put down the flutes he'd brought on the coffee table (because of course Stark had some of those just lying around). Wedging the bottle between his thighs, he tore the golden wrapping at the top, untwisted the thin metal binding, then nudged the cork with his thumb until it flew off with a loud pop.

Clint, perched at the other end of the room, hooted.

Steve had already filled a glass with the foam spilling from the opening and was halfway through another. Once most of the froth had receded he topped up the first flute, then put the bottle aside.

With some trepidation, he watched as Bucky picked up a glass. They were taking a risk, he knew. They always hoped for the best when bringing back a taste or smell from the past, but sometimes the good memory they expected was superseded by others from Bucky's time as the Winter Soldier—and in such cases, Bucky rarely reacted well.

(Like with the apple pie. Don't think about the apple pie.)

Hopefully it wouldn't happen this time. After all, there was little chance that Hydra or the Red Room would have allowed their asset to drink alcohol, lest it compromise his abilities. And if it turned out that they had, there were plenty of people around to contain the situation. Steve had chosen to do this in the evening, on the common floor: Clint was perched in a corner, Natasha and Wanda were sitting on the armchairs bracketing the couch, with Sam on the sofa opposite. Even Bruce was here, trying to prevent Tony from blowing up the kitchen again.

(Tony had recently read an article about how cooking was basically chemistry and had concluded that since he was a genius scientist, he was necessarily a genius chef too. It had led to… interesting results, one might say.)

If things came to the worst, they could even call Vision. Point was, Bucky didn't need to worry about hurting anyone.

There was another side to Steve's nervousness though, which grew as Bucky sniffed at the glass, wrinkling his nose when the small bubbles popping tickled his nostrils: that the champagne wouldn't elicit any memory at all, suggesting that this one might be lost, maybe forever.

Bucky took a sip.

Steve held his breath.

Bucky had closed his eyes, and swished the liquid in his mouth a couple of times before swallowing it. He frowned minutely.

Steve still wasn't breathing.

"Germany," Bucky finally said. "No, wait. Occupied France." His eyes opened. "Why am I thinking about occupied France?"

"Because you're drinking French champagne?" Tony prompted, momentarily distracted from whatever it was he was trying to make. (After having been confronted to three unrecognizable experiments, Steve had given up on ever knowing what dish he was aiming for.) He fake-gasped: "Wait, did you steal champagne from the houses of poor people who had had to flee from the Nazis? Is that what you were doing while the rest of the world praised you as heroes?" He brought a hand to his chest. "I am shocked. Shocked, I say."

Meanwhile, Sam was tsk-ing and shaking his head disapprovingly.

"It wasn't in a house," Bucky said, squinting upwards. "We were on a mission."

Steve started to grin. "Yeah," he said encouragingly.

"We had completed the mission." He took another sip. "And we were completely on our own to try and make it out to the… the _zone libre_ , because fuck if those Résistance dicks were going to stage an extraction in occupied France for Captain fucking _America_."

Steve nodded.

"And we stole this car—"

"We _commandeered_ —" Steve corrected.

"No," Bucky cut off with a glare. "We just plain stole it. You bet we did, it was a Nazi's car. We stole a Nazi's car, and I'm fucking proud of it." He took another mouthful of champagne.

"It must've been an officer's car though, because—" Steve prompted.

Bucky seamlessly finished the sentence: "—because once we'd gotten away we found those crates in the back."

"Full of champagne bottles."

"Yeah, fuck, hear that Stark?" Bucky said. "We didn't steal nothing, we _recovered_ French goods _stolen by_ those Nazi bastards. Up yours." He titled his glass for another, sullen sip. "I swear, it was like Saruman's secret weed stash or something."

Part of his recovery over the past week had involved him and Steve watching the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, in the extended version. They'd liked.

Steve's cheeks were starting to hurt he was grinning so much. He didn't care. "And then Dernier said—"

"—that _ce serait dommage de le laisser perdre_ , like champagne ever turns _bad_ —"

"I'm pretty sure he meant bringing it back only for officers to keep it to themselves, instead of giving it to the people actually fighting for freedom in the mud," Steve said.

"Like us."

"Exactly. Plus, Dernier was French. He was entitled."

"And Gabe could _speak_ French, so he was too."

"We could _all_ speak French, actually, so—"

"We could all say ' _merde_ ' and ' _va te faire foutre_ ', Rogers, I don't think it counts."

"Well, it was enough to get the job done," Steve smirked.

"Oh," Sam suddenly said. "I think I see where this is going."

Beside him, Natasha was smirking in her armchair. Obviously she had figured it out too. She also had full glass in hand, even though no one had seen her move.

"Why, what happened?" Wanda asked.

"You drank it, didn't you?" Sam accused, eyes narrowed.

"We drank it," Steve confirmed.

Bucky nodded. "All of it. How many bottles was it?"

"I don't know, twelve?"

"Yeah, but we were seven, so in the end it wasn't _that_ many."

"Six and a half. Monty barely counts, he never could hold his liquor."

"Yeah, that guy was a disgrace to his own country, I swear. But you, on the other hand, counted for one and a half _at least_."

"True." Steve glanced at the rest of the room. "I hadn't realized I couldn't get drunk at the time."

"Anyway, so here we were, drinking—" Bucky said, picking the narration back up.

"—and driving—" Steve added.

"— _and_ driving, because we still needed to cross over to the free zone."

The memory seemed to be coming back without any problem. The champagne he kept sipping probably helped. He went for another mouthful, and frowned when he found his flute empty. With a shrug, he leaned forward to snatch the bottle and get a refill.

"Are you hearing this?" Tony was saying. "Because I'm hearing about drinking on the job. And drunk driving. Worse, I'm hearing about _drunk driving on the job_. Aren't you guys supposed to be the epitome of truth and virtue and the American way? Is what we teach our children nothing but a web of lies? This is outrageous. Are you outraged, Bruce? Because I am. I am deeply, deeply outraged."

"I'm still wondering why I wasn't the one driving though," Steve said, ignoring him. "Given we caught on pretty fast that I was the least affected of us all."

"Steve, sweetheart," Bucky said. The pet name tingled Steve all over. This was working even better than he'd hoped: Bucky hadn't been this relaxed since that afternoon in Wakanda what felt forever ago, three months after Bucky had been brought out of the ice for good. "I love you, but the day I let you take the wheel, I am either unconscious, or dead, or planning to be real soon."

"Preach," Sam quipped. Steve threw him a betrayed look.

"Even—"

"Even when the only alternative is a drunk mook who's never even tried his hand at bumper cars," Bucky said, mercilessly shooting down Steve's protest while he fumbled the bottle back onto the table. Steve had to reach out to make sure it didn't fall over.

"I still don't see why _you_ were the one driving instead, since you had even less experience than I did," Steve grumbled. "I at least had my bike."

"You mean you'd perfected the art of sending your bikes, plural, right into any tree, portal, reinforced door or bridge you wanted to go boom. Excuse me, but there's a difference here."

"Looks like nothing's changed, then," Natasha murmured.

"Are you serious?" Clint said. He'd walked over and was now propped on the arm of her chair. "This is, like, a whole new side of Cap I'm seeing here."

"This had nothing to do with 'Cap'," Bucky spat, "this is 100% patented Steve Rogers bullshit. I'd know, I've been putting up with it since nineteen-twenty-fucking-six."

He gulped down more champagne. Steve, for once, chose to remain silent.

"Anyway here we were, driving through occupied France—"

"—but near the border to the free half—"

"Yeah, yeah. So, picture a dark forest, with tall trees and next to no light," Bucky said, gesturing with his glass, "and in the middle of it, a bunch of drunk Howlies careening down a narrow road in a stolen car."

"Until we came to a crossing," Steve said.

"Well, first we only _saw_ the crossing, from afar. See, it wasn't difficult to notice, 'cause the other road was full of lights."

Steve gamely asked: "Why was it full of lights?"

"'Cause it was full of Nazis, that's why. Some troops moving through the night, a whole column, reinforcements probably, going God knows where. Cars and trucks and tanks, slowly driving by, all chock-full of Nazis, all armed to the teeth."

"And here we were, racing towards them—"

"—at the end of a stealth mission—"

"—where it was imperative to maintain utmost secrecy—"

"—with Captain America in the back—

"—in full regalia."

Steve and Bucky stared at each other for a second, kind of amazed themselves by those circumstances.

"Now there is one thing you need to know about champagne," Bucky said slowly, turning back to the rest of the group and raising his half-empty flute. "It doesn't feel like it at first, but it's powerful stuff. It hits you fast—"

"—and hard—"

"—and you never see it coming. So by that point, we were all pretty smashed."

"Well, _I_ wasn't," Steve reminded them, "but it's not like anyone was listening to me."

"Oh my God," Bucky hissed, rolling his eyes. "Seriously? You're still peeved about that? What will it be next, that time I ate the last slice of cherry pie in the summer of 1937, what?"

"Why not?" Steve baited. "It was _my_ slice."

Bucky threw a look at the other Avengers, as if to say _See what I put up with?_

"Hey, don't look at me," Sam said. "You're the one who came back for more."

"Really, Wilson? Really? From you?"

"So what did you do?" Wanda asked, forcefully bringing them back on track.

"Well, you might not know this about me, but when I'm stewed I'm kinda reduced to my basest instincts."

"No inhibitions whatsoever," Steve concurred.

"And back then my basest instincts, while still mainly consisting of watching that punk's six—" He pointed at Steve, who was still grinning helplessly. "—had grown a sub-clause that was all about killing Nazis. Because killing Nazis went a long way to ensure that that dumbass over here was safe. So when I saw that column of Nazis—"

"—piled up in trucks and tanks and armed to the teeth, must I remind you—"

"—knowing that I was in a car myself—"

"—an officer's car, true, but still nothing but a measly little car—"

"—I went all 'Yay, running over Nazis! Great plan!' And so I stepped on the gas."

There he paused, because Bucky was nothing if not dramatic, and he probably thought that he should give their audience the time to appreciate what they'd just heard.

"Before you ask," Steve said, "this is one of the reasons why they generally left the planning to me."

By some miracle, Bucky didn't contradict him and simply took another sip of champagne.

"And?" Stark finally caved in.

"Well," Bucky said with a smirk, thrilled to know he had their friends in the palm of his hands. "Turns out the basest instincts of at least one of the Commandos were more oriented towards self-preservation—"

"Not that you would've guessed, knowing what we usually got up to."

"—which means that Dernier—"

"Was it Dernier?"

Bucky blinked. "It wasn't?"

"I could've sworn it was Dugan."

"Well, it certainly wasn't Monty, given he was already half passed out by then."

They both shook their heads, still disappointed by how much of a lightweight Falsworth had been.

"And Morita was starting to get sick in the back," Bucky went on.

"So maybe it was actually Gabe."

Bucky chose let the matter drop. "Point is, _someone_ remembered something about something about driving and, seeing those asshole Nazis about to be crushed—rightfully so, I might add—, he batted my hands away from the wheel and honked."

"And honked."

"And honked some more."

Steve allowed for another pause, since their story was reaching its crux.

"Now, you have to put yourself in those Nazis' shoes. I know, I know," Bucky hastily added as Steve crossed his arms and went for what Tony called his 'Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you face'. "How dare I, you didn't get your ass frozen for this shit, yada yada yada."

"I _like_ that whole new side of Cap," Clint muttered to Natasha, who by then was more smiling than smirking.

"But just picture it for a minute. You're a Nazi in the middle of Nazi France. It's the middle of the night. You're surrounded by your Nazi pals, moving along a column of fresh Nazi soldiers like you, and Nazi trucks, and Nazi tanks."

"Uh uh."

"And here comes that Nazi car, clearly a Nazi officer's car, barreling towards you at full speed, honking like it's Judgment Day."

"Yeah, okay," Steve conceded, cracking a grin again. He couldn't help it, not when Bucky was on such a roll. "My first thought wouldn't have been that it was Captain America and his Drinking Commandos driving into Liberty's arms either."

"They probably thought we were a Nazi general in a hurry," Bucky said.

"Maybe they even thought we were _Hitler_ in a hurry."

Bucky stared. Between one second and the next they had both burst into uproarious laughter. Natasha was now openly grinning. Sam tried to hold onto his disapproving what-are-you-even face, but: his lips twitched.

"Anyway," Bucky gasped once he'd managed to get a hold of himself, several minutes later, "when they saw us—"

"—and _heard_ us—"

"—coming, they stopped everything and flailed all over to make room. They even made a tank _reverse_ —"

"—which almost crushed a whole _platoon_ —"

"—too free a passage, just for us to drive through."

"And we did."

Bucky nodded. "We did."

"Without a hitch."

"And they saluted."

"Clicking their heels together and all."

"But Steve," Bucky added in dismay. "I was so wasted I didn't even think of flipping them off. Steve, how sad is that?"

"Very sad," Steve intoned gravely.

Bucky sighed. He took a sip of champagne. "Anyway, before we—and they—knew it, we'd driven right past, and had disappeared around a bend of the road."

"I don't think they ever registered what had actually happened."

"Well, none of them came after us, so probably not."

"True."

"And that's the story of how Captain America drove safely to the French _zone libre_ ," Bucky solemnly declared, "with the rest of his team three sheets to the wind, while being fearfully saluted by Nazis."

Silence settled.

"That was a good one," he added after a while, smiling up at Steve, all mellow and warm. The champagne was clearly taking effect, which was confirmed when he wrapped his free arm around Steve's leg. He'd always grown a lot cuddlier when drunk.

"You sure won't find that part in no history book," Steve said. "Seeing we made sure not to mention any of that in our reports."

Bucky's smile widened, taking on a wicked edge. "You bet we didn't," he snickered. "Carter would've had us drawn and quartered." Then he whispered: "Thank you."

"Don't thank _me_. Tony's the one who bought the bottle," Steve said, glancing up to see Stark startle at the mention of his name. For a second, he looked strangely vulnerable.

"Oh," Bucky said. He turned his head. "Well. Thank you, Stark." He raised his glass. "You should have some of this, if you bought it. It's damn good."

"No worries, it's all yours," Tony said, aiming for brash and nonchalant. "I have plenty more where it came from."

The silence returned.

"And to say, that's what they call the greatest generation," Bruce wryly commented after a while.

" _Right_?" Sam burst out, still pretending he was Not Amused.

Tony squinted. "I can see it."

"What I can see is the state you must've been in the following day," Natasha said.

Bucky's smile vanished and he groaned. "Don't remind me."

"I don't remember it being that awful."

Bucky unstuck himself from his leg to glare. "Fuck you, Rogers," he said, heartfelt. " _Fuck_ you." He snatched the bottle for another refill.

"Was it that bad?" asked Wanda.

"It was the worst hangover of my _life_ ," he said while generously pouring.

"See, we had to report right upon arrival," Steve explained, "that is to say, early the following morning. _Very_ early."

"All the while pretending we weren't _dying_."

" _I_ wasn't—"

"What did I just say?" Bucky snarled. He took a sullen sip. "Fucking good-for-nothing knock-off super-serum," he mumbled.

"Speaking of, you might want to be careful with that," Natasha pointed out, nodding at his glass, which had been filled to the brim but would quite clearly soon be empty again.

Bucky very maturely stuck his tongue out at her.

 

*

 

The result one hour later was to be expected.

"I hate you," Bucky groaned from over the porcelaine bowl.

Steve, who was carefully holding Bucky's hair back, chuckled. "I didn't _make_ you finish the whole bottle in one sitting, you know. And there were plenty of Avengers around if you didn't want it to go to waste."

"No, t'was my bottle. Stark said so. My bottle, mine—"

He hiccuped.

"You're starting to sound like Gollum."

"Fuck you." He breathed harshly for a long while. Then he swallowed. "Okay, I think I'm done."

Steve stepped back to let him straighten and settle on his haunches. "Wanna try a bit of water?"

"Yeah, yes. I need to get rid of the taste. And smell."

Steve handed a full glass over.

"You know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"This brings back memories too."

"I don't remember you ever getting drunk to the point of throwing up," Steve said prudently, worried about bad memories.

"Yeah, no," Bucky snorted. "We were dirt poor, no way I could've afforded it. Especially not on _champagne_. But _you_ — You used to get sick a lot."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, I did." He tended to forget, sometimes, the worst parts of what his life had been like, pre-serum. His ability to get stomach flu over nothing had been the least of it. "Sorry about that."

"S'okay," Bucky said, leaning against him. "I liked taking care of you."

"And now I get to take care of you in return. Isn't that just great?"

"Depends on who you ask," Bucky mumbled. "But yeah," he added, settling more comfortably against Steve's shoulder while Steve rubbed his back. "It kind of is."

Steve smiled.

"Fuck champagne, though."

He let the smile turn into a laugh.

 

*

 

END

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Champagne is great to get tipsy on - to get drunk, not so much. Do not advise.
> 
> 2) You can actually get excellent champagne at a comparatively pretty low price (20-30€ for a bottle). The 275.000$ bottle Tony mentions is a special case: it'd be one of the 200 100-year-old bottles found in a shipwreck at the end of the 90s.
> 
> 3) If you liked, please do not hesitate to leave feedback or to reblog [on Tumblr](http://princessniitza.tumblr.com/post/155202777491/ca-fic-bubbling-up).
> 
> 4) I also wish you all a very happy New Year :)


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